A Series of Mutants
by morough
Summary: this is the setting of the scene for my first Xmen ficcy, which is yet untitled and yet unposted :-) I'm planning on letting you know the characters first (my OC's) so that the next story is more enjoyable :-)
1. Paul

Halloo, pepples, this is the first chappie in A Series of Mutants. Can you guess what it's about? A SERIES OF MUTANTS.

Oh my gosh.

laughs Anyhoo, this is Paul's 'bio,' a.k.a. how he became a mutant. If any of you have interesting ideas for his name (anything w/the root 'pyro' is strictly out of the question unless it's so fantastically good you can't keep it quiet), put them in the review section. I can't just keep calling him Paul…

(be happy, Annette – this isn't Harry Potter!)

* * *

"Oh, yeah, and then when you winked at the professor like that she nearly threw you out of class…" 

Paul and Stuart laughed heartily at the memory of their last day of classes at their elite acting school. The two of them had a lot in common: short, dark-haired and eyed, wealthy families, they even came from the same city in their homeland of Great Britain….both had also just recently departed from the annual end-of-year party. It being past midnight, they had finally said goodnight to all their friends and were now walking on their way back home to the apartment that they both shared.

Neither of them noticed the group of men eyeing them from across the street in the shelter of a dark alleyway. At least, not until they began following the two young actors.

Staurt glanced over his shoulder and turned around again, his eyes slightly worried. "Paul, there's some guys following us…I don't think they look too terribly friendly…"

Paul glanced back at the men also, but shrugged nonchalantly. "Nothing to worry about. The apartment's only a block up, and those guys could be going anywhere – stop being paranoid."

"I'm not paranoid, I just don't want to get mugged," Stuart protested "and I've got a full wallet on me…"

"Yeah, me too," said Paul, "but those guys aren't doing anything to us-"

Three men suddenly came around the corner in front of the two friends and stood there, looking very solid and menacing. Behind Stuart and Paul the original four also halted, leering and cracking their knuckles.

"I told you…" whispered Stuart as he and Paul glanced around at the circle of men. One of them stepped forward, a nearby lamppost illuminating his harsh features and scraggly beard. "Pull out your money. All of it now, and we'll let you go." Paul's heart was beating furiously as he quickly thought up an answer. "We don't have any money," he told the man blandly, putting all of the acting abilities he could summon into the lie, "we just spent it all on dinner."

"Liar!" the man laughed roughly, launching himself at Stuart and knocking him down. Another man came up behind Paul and pinned his arms behind his back while yet another rummaged in his jacket pockets. Paul tried yelling, but received a gigantic undercut to his jaw, which was heavy enough to knock him senseless for a few seconds and cause his teeth to slam down on his tongue. Start was still yelling but still trying to fight while the other man continued to try and kick and punch him unconscious, only intent on getting money. Soon the other men were doing the same to Paul.

"YOU BASTARDS! _GET – OFF – ME!_"

Paul suddenly collapsed against the man who was holding his arms, shivering uncontrollably. He wondered vaguely where they had hit him so hard. But the next thing he knew the man had dropped him, screaming and blowing on his fingers as though he had been burned. Opening his eyes, Paul thought he was hallucinating – his entire world was red. It was like in the spy movies he used to go see, the infrared goggles and all that sort of junk. But the only difference was that this red made everything seem more _vibrant_. He could almost see better – which meant it was a considerable improvement, as he had to wear glasses. He shivered again, moving weakly from his position on the sidewalk. He sat up and heard a sizzle from behind him. Spinning his torso around, he saw the smoking impressions of two hands on the cement.

Where his hands had been moments before.

Holding them up in front of his eyes, Paul saw white sparks dancing across his fingertips, lighting up his crimson world. He felt very warm. He looked u and saw that the men were all staring at him, and had even broken off their attack on Stuart. With a sharp hiss, Paul felt the blood running out of his mouth from his bleeding tongue evaporate, leaving only a slight copper-colored film on his chin.

"_YOU FREAK!! YOU MUTANT!!"_

Paul saw the man who had first asked for his and Stuart's money pull a gun from his pocket and shoot. Almost as if someone else were controlling him, Paul raised his hand as though to halt the whirling bit of metal, and it burst into flame and fell in a puff of ashes to the street. The man screamed like a madman and ran, his companions quickly following him. As Paul watched the men pelt down the street, he collapsed again, the heat draining from his body as he shivered on the sidewalk. After a few seconds, he gathered enough strength to stand up, and he staggered over to Stuart, who was staring at him, his mouth gaping in shock.

Or fear.

Paul extended his hand to help his friend up from where he was still lying on the ground, but Stuart yelled and jerked away, regaining his feet by himself, though still needing to seek support from a nearby building. "What the hell are you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "What the _hell_ are you?!"

Paul shivered again and fell to his knees, but Stuart remained distant. Paul forced his head up, tears forming at the corners of his eyes as the cold tremble receded into a wave of fiery pain.

"Please…help me…Stu, help…"

Stuart shook his head, his voice high and quivering as he stared at his best friend. _"Stay away from me!"_ he shouted, and ran down the street toward the direction of the apartment. Paul's fingers gripped the sidewalk, burning holes in them as the tears evaporated from his cheeks.

_God help me, I'm a mutant…_

* * *

**wowie**, the first version of that was really crappy. I hope I cleaned it up, tho – and I'm finally glad I've got this off my belt! I've wanted to type this little bit up for so long, but I just couldn't figure out what was going on. Did I make Stuart good (well?)? Real? I hope so… 

anyhoo, this is the 'intro' to my Xmen fanfic. I actually joined for Xmen, not Harry Potter (though it's easier and less painful to find up plot bunnies for him!!), but my copy of the first story kept getting deleted…and then I can only type it when I'm alone b/c certain people I know - coughJoChelseMorganIlyaHarryHannahJocough - would think I named one of my characters (Greg) after someone else we all know…BUT IF ANY OF YOU PEOPLE I JUST MENTIONED ARE LAUGHING STOPPIT BECUASE I DID NOT NAME THE FREAKING CHARACTER AFTER GREG!! sighs I still know I'm going to get burned for that one, tho :-(

R&R, ya'll know the deal…

morough


	2. Wraith

lalalalalalaaaa… isn't life just absolutely SPIFFY when you're sick? >hackhackcoughcoughsneeze I hope I don't have this cold as long as I had the last onep; ten days, and I kid you not…AND IT WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF SUMMER!!! >sighs It's impossible to go to the beach when you have to bring a box of tissues along with you. People stare, you get fuzzies on your bathing suit, and _then_ they get all wet by that nasty little kid who just ran by you with water dripping off him…ya. Maybe if it snows before Christmas my snot will freeze and then I'll have nothing to worry about, eh? I've had my hair freeze over before, so there _is_ hope…

* * *

Charlotte Whittaker. That is my name. Or should I say that _was_ my name? No one ever calls me by it anymore. No one knows who I am. 

Heck, _I_ don't know who I am. I used to be a schoolteacher. Now I'm a freak.

I used to teach music to a sweet little bunch of children who would bring me cookies and apples and call me 'Miss Whittaker.' Little darlings. I still can't get over the betrayal and fear in their eyes when they found out I was a mutant, when the police burst in during the middle of class to arrest me and cart me off to some mutant facility.

I'll never forget my children's screams when I disappeared right in front of their little eyes.

The thugs fired their guns at me, but I was already gone. My gift – my disease – is to become invisible. I melted into the shadows and slipped through the open door. One of the officers heard me and tried to grab me, but I had the advantage.

My mutation had manifested itself quietly, peacefully, when I was a teenager. One day I came home from school terribly sick, and woke up the next day not able to see myself in the mirror. There was no 'traumatic experience' that everyone says is the trigger for mutations to surface. My parents – God bless their souls – helped me get through it, and swore that they would never tell anybody about my secret. With the whole world out for mutant blood, it was not only wise to conceal my mutation but necessary. They were dead by the time I was found out. I don't even know _how_ I was found out – when I escaped from the police, it had been so long since I had last used my mutation I almost couldn't remember how to use it.

I see other mutants on the news at night, on the TV sets of different welfare hotels. I never spend more than two nights in one place. I know my fear is unnecessary, but it's powerful. I see these two groups of mutants the most, the ones led by the one man who shoots red light from his eyes and the other one who wears the odd helmet. Most of them that are fighting are just _kids, _teenagers…about the age my kids would be now if I had had the chance to see them go through school. I feel much older than I am. Sometimes, when I see other mutants – my 'brothers and sisters' – using their powers so openly, so unafraid, I want to use mine too. But I can't do anything so spectacular as throwing fireballs or levitating things. All I can do is become invisible.

It suits me.

* * *

yow…that one just kinda poured out of me. I didn't mean it to turn out that…erm…angsty or melodramatic, honest! puts a hand over her heart I didn't intend it to be in first person either. But characters run away with you sometimes…for crying out loud, I was intending Wraith to be a _guy_! Oh yeah, BTW, this mutant's name is Wraith. You'll see her later in my yet-untitled Xmen fanfic. You see, _A Series of Mutants_ is kinda me 'setting the stage' of the dramatis personae for my next fanfic. I mean, it's kinda cool when authors just drop hints about their OCs' 'dark pasts,' but I think this is going to be good too, where I can drop _different_ hints that _refer_ to the past that the other characters in the story wouldn't be able to pick up on…dramatic irony! bells go off 

So help me, I'm slipping into my 'literature professor' mode… >slaps herself

R&R, tell me what you think of Charlotte :-)

(REJOICE AND BE GLAD!! I HAVE JUST RECEIVED WORD THAT **THE RAIDERS** WON THEIR GAME TODAY!! HAHAHAHA!!!)

>coughs

morough


	3. Greg

"And _fantastic_ job on that debate tournament last night, Mr. Carter!"

"Uh…yeah, thank you…" _The tournament was last weekend,_ _Mr. Coen._

"You're really putting our institution on the map!"

"Thank you sir…" _Our school's so small the other side of town doesn't know we exist._

"Well, I need to be going. Have a nice day!"

"You too…bye…" _You're a loser. Go away. Have a nice day. _

_Okay, maybe that wasn't nice, but he _gets on my nerves_…_

Greg jaywalked across the street to the unpaved student parking lot of his miniature highschool. Top of the senior class, sure to be valedictorian, 4.0 student, Greg Michael Carter was extremely bored with life. All it consisted of so far was taking notes in his classes, memorizing them that night, wasting the study hall periods that were allotted to the senior class, and trying to ignore all the girls while they were trading photos of him in the hallways between classes.

Suddenly Greg knocked into a frenzied sophomore who was running off the bus to retrieve something she had evidently forgotten in her locker before they left. "Sorry!" she shot over her shoulder, barely even looking back as the binders that wouldn't fit in Greg's backpack went flying out of his arms. _Yeah, whatever_, Greg thought sarcastically as he desperately grabbed for his scattered papers. One of them flew right out of his hand, landing in the middle of the street as a gust of wind brushed by Greg. _Stupid paper_, he thought, as he walked out to retrieve it.

There were three seconds of utter confusion, during which the blue sky turned black and his skin turned inside out as purple flecks danced across his eyes. Then the pain seared through him. There was no room for thought as he instinctively tried to sit up _(why am I lying down?), _but found himself unable to. _What happened?_

The sound came back more slowly. People were screaming and milling around him, shielding his body from the breeze. Strangely, though, it was still cold without the breeze. Too cold for an April afternoon. And suddenly, it was far too warm for July. _The hell is going on?_

Greg felt liquid leaking from his body. He opened his eyes and saw his uniform shirt stained crimson. _But I was wearing a white shirt this morning…Oh, God, it's my blood…_he turned his head as far as he could, and saw a car sitting a little ways away, and tire tracks on the asphalt that indicated that it had swerved to a stop. _I always did hate Hummers._ He heard Mr. Coen yelling over the crowd.

"It's going to be alright, folks, he'll be fine, the paramedics are on there way…Jean? Jean are you there? Jean, call Mr. and Mrs. Carter and tell them their son's been hit by a car, they're going to take him to the hospital…"

Greg's body convulsed involuntarily, the muscles contracting without his brain's consent. Greg managed to scream as his torn skin and broken bones scraped against each other. He felt sweat mingling with his blood. He opened his eyes again and saw Mr. Carter pressing on his shoulders while the History teacher got his legs, trying to straighten him back out so that he didn't damage anything that had already been hurt by the car. "It's alright son, it's going to be…" Mr. Carter stopped speaking, and was staring speechless at some spot on Greg's torso. Greg gasped as a wave of iced cold spread through his body. It felt like sheets of ice were forming all over him, cooling the burn of his wounds, but at the same time encasing him in an inescapable pain. Mr. Carter and the History teacher slowly got up and backed away. Greg looked at his torn shirt, but where blood had been before, there was only clear skin. A little red, yes, but unblemished and undamaged.

Silence fell. Only ambulance sirens could be heard, coming closer. Greg got to his feet. No one made a sound. Suddenly weakening, he stumbled, and fell against a parked car. Nobody moved.

Then someone screamed.

The crowd of students scattered, the teachers trying to direct them back into the school. Greg's mind grasped the paradox slowly. He had been hit by a car. Hard. He had been bleeding. He'd definitely broken bones. Now he was standing up, all on his own, watching a screaming mass of humanity stream back into the safety of a small building.

A screaming mass of humanity he was no longer a member of.

The ambulance rushed by Greg and turned into the school parking lot, not one person inside it suspecting the boy that had been in need of their help was now standing on the sidewalk, fully and completely healed.

The realization that he was a mutant hurt more than when he had been hit by that car.

* * *

Well, you know how the story goes…I felt guilty about not updating, so I wrote this in…let me check the clock here…oh, seven minutes, give or take two. >laughs This is GREG'S story, if you hadn't got that already. And, again, if anyone has any ideas for names, drop me a review. Or should I just keep him Greg, like Jean Grey? Oh, gosh, doesn't that sound funny…Greg Grey… >laughs 

Let me explain his mutation, though…it's not healing. It looks like that from this story, but it is quite a bit different. Greg controls molecules, atoms, matter, whatever it can be called. He can move them around and switch them up and do all sorts of things…like create methane… >giggles sorry, a bit gross (wouldn't it be weird to live on Venus?)…but yeah. I know it would be a bit complicated to do that, because the substances that make up whatever he's creating or changing would have to be present in the first place, but it was a fun idea for a mutation (at least I think so!). I'm also looking into the e equals mc2 thing, where energy and matter are interchangeable – because then that would make Greg a REALLY fun person to be around. :-)

There also might be a part two to this bit, cause it doesn't really cover how he deals with his mutation, does it? It just kinda happens. And if I think of anything better, I'll post it. Also, I might do something with the 'frenzied sophomore…'

morough


End file.
